I had to get away from the office, people, and everything that might allow me to continue to communicate with the outside world. I was not ready for any of it and whatever I said to anyone would be a mistake.

The side entrance to the short hall that allowed me to come in or escape without the clerical staff knowing was open, with the emergency fire door alarm disabled. I’d done that myself once I’d realized that the door was my perfect secret entrance or exit in a time of need. I was now in one of those times of need. I raced the Rover down the freeway toward Socorro intending to drive the 88 miles at the Rover’s top speed of 107 which it was at. There was nobody on the freeway at all and the desert blew by. Ten miles down the road there was a drugstore, gas station, and motel complex. I needed gas so I pulled in. I went inside to pay, and a polite and seemingly nice Indian man waited on me.

“You are in a period of disturbance,” the man said in his ‘Indian from India’ accent.

I just looked at him like he was some sort of alien and took my change for the fifty-dollar bill. The Rover ate gas like there was no tomorrow but I loved the thing.

“What?” I finally said, staring into his shiny black eyes.

“You must first rest before you proceed,” the man said as if he were some sort of seer or guru.

“I don’t need any rest,” I said in reply, making to leave the store and fuel up the car.

“Do you know where you are going?” the Indian said before I could get out the door.

I stopped and turned, before pointing the index finger on my right hand south toward Socorro.

“That way,” I said, my voice weak even to my ears, as I started to think about what the man asked.

There was nothing in Socorro. I knew nobody there. Why was I driving there? I shook my head and went outside and fueled up the car.

Climbing inside the Rover I turned to look out the side window back at the gas station office. The Indian was standing staring at me like I was a parakeet in a cage testing to see if poison gas was in the area. I stared back waiting, not starting the Rover as I thought about what the man had said and the fact that I didn’t, indeed, really know where I was going at all. I was just going. The driving at high speed had settled me and felt good. My hand was no longer shaking, which was a great relief. Every time I’d ever had one of the attacks, I feared the shaking would be permanent.

I pulled the Rover out from the pumps and turned it toward the side of the building. I parked, got out of the car, and went back inside. The Indian said nothing, even when I asked him if there was a public phone. He simply pointed at the wall opposite the counter where the phone was set up in plain view. I didn’t like the fact that I hadn’t noticed it.

I pushed in a few quarters and dialed. My wife answered.

“How are you doing?” I asked, making my voice as cheerful as possible.

“Where are you?” she asked back, her no-nonsense tone fully engaged.

“Just took a drive,” I said lightly.

“Where are you?” she asked again, and I knew she was like a dog with a bone now.

I had to answer or hang up and I couldn’t hang up on her without her going into an extremely worried state. She didn’t deserve that.
I muffled the phone and turned around.

“Where am I?” I asked the Indian, wondering in the back of my mind whether the strange man would answer: “A phone booth in the Midwest,” from the lyrics of the Diamonds and Rust song by Joan Baez.

“Spearmint Plaza,” he said. I held the phone to my chest, my forehead wrinkling up over the truly weird name for a pharmacy gas station complex.

“My wife likes the gum,” the man said, looking away for the first time.

I had to smile despite everything I was feeling.

“I’m at the Spearmint Plaza getting gas,” I said, after pulling the phone’s receiver back up to my ear.

“Why?” she asked, my discomfort growing with her every question.

I couldn’t think of a decent answer. The Indian’s observation that I didn’t know where I was going and his picking that up just from my expression was too unsettling to repeat, so I remained silent.

“Where is this ridiculous complex?” she asked, which was an easy question so I told her.

“You go sit in the Rover and wait,” she said, “I’m on the way,” she finished and hung up as Herbert would have.

I put the receiver on the hook and turned to face the Indian.

Nobody had come in or out since I’d been in the place.

“You ever get any other customers?” I asked, walking over to him.

“It’s out of season,” he replied as I looked out the window wondering what season he could be talking about but deciding not to ask. The man, in his way, had done me a favor. I was back and I knew it. The drive and the brief stop had done their work, and my breathing, attention, and expressiveness were returning.

I didn’t feel like sitting in the car with the windows shut and the air conditioner running. Radio reception on the far outskirts of Albuquerque wasn’t the greatest either so I chose to engage the Indian in a conversation.

“What’s your name?” I asked, looking around to see if there was anything of interest to snack on, but it wasn’t that kind of ‘full service’ gas station.

“Ben,” the man said, extending his hand across the counter.

I responded with my own first name, taking the hand and immediately noting that his handshake was typical of what I’d heard about in the country of the man’s origin.

“What’s your last name?” I asked, letting go of his limp hand.

“Kingsley,” Ben replied, without laughing or smiling.

“The movie star?” I asked, and Ben Kingsley nodded, again with no humor in his expression, so I withheld my smile.

I wondered if his wife liked that actor.

We talked for twenty minutes, Ben finally opening up about just what kind of trouble his own country back home was in and how his visa would expire in a year if something wasn’t done and he’d lose everything. A British racing green vehicle pulled up outside and I knew Mary had arrived. The wind had picked up so the beautiful Mercedes paint job was covered in dust, which would make her a bit angry for having to come all the way out on the plains of the desert for no good reason at all.

I waited, wondering if I should go out or if she would come in.

“You know the driver?” Ben Kingsley asked.

“My wife,” I replied, walking over to the single cooler and pulling a Coke can out.

I popped the top and took a swig, stalling until I was going to be called to the shed, as I called my wife’s corrective lecture presentations. I reached into my pocket for some change but Ben waved his hand.

“You should go out,” Kingsley said, needlessly pointing to where the 240D sat idling.

“Why?” I asked, not even knowing why I said the word.

“You know where you’re going now.”

That stopped the Coke can halfway up to my mouth.

I put the can down and took Ben’s advice. When I got through the door and out to the driver’s side of the diesel the window slowly went down.

I took a deep breath but didn’t say anything.

“Get in,” Mary commanded, and the dusty window went silently sliding back up.

I went around the front of the car and got in on the passenger’s side, pushing her purse toward the center divider.

“They want to send you no matter what we say, or they lie about, don’t they?” she asked, but her delivery wasn’t spoken in the form of a question.

“Well?” she asked, this time in a tone that demanded an answer, but I ignored it anyway and just sat in the seat looking straight ahead.

“You and I can’t fight them, I know.” she finally said. “Why did he say?”

“Who?” I asked, playing for time.

“McCain, as whom else would it be?”

“They only want me to train the team in a jungle environment so I would, go to a pacified part of Vietnam, since the war is over and the two parts are joined, then the training will be valid for the potential environment of the mission instead of desert training which would be worse than silly.” I blurted it all out, trying to minimize the potential impact of going anywhere back into that country.

“They’re lying,” she concluded in her usual analytical style when talking about agency business. “Something will happen after training, and you’ll have to lead the mission. They have no idea of just how screwed up you are mentally here.”

“I’m not that screwed up,” I replied.

“Really? Then what are you doing out here and why did I have to come and get you?”

I had no answer that made any sense without going into my ‘crashing’ after the discussion with McCain, which I wasn’t going to do.

“We have to brush block them away, and make it stick,” Mary finally said.

“Brush block?” I asked, not familiar with the phrase.

“It’s a football term I heard used on television during the Packer games,” she quickly replied, like was some sort of football aficionado or guru which she most definitely was not. “It means that an offensive blocker runs straight ahead and gives a defensive player a nudge to bump him off his course in going after the quarterback.”

I was astounded by her knowledge and understanding of something in the sport I’d never heard of.

“Just how do we perform this blocking maneuver?” I asked, truly curious about what her answer would be.
“

Shunque,” she replied, almost in a whisper.

“What’s a Shunque,” I asked, totally befuddled.

“The El Shunque Tropical jungle in Northeastern Puerto Rico, the only jungle in the USA. It’s spelled with a ‘Y’ in Spanish instead of the ‘Sh’ but pronounced in the local jargon the way I just did.”

“What’s your point” I asked, shaking my head at the amazing woman who was my wife.

“We change the training to Puerto Rico which is a long way from Vietnam and then they can’t play switch up because you won’t be within eight thousand miles of the place.”

“Where’d you get all this?” I asked.

“Your vast collection of the nearly useless National Geographics magazines,” she replied.

“What if they disagree with doing that?” I asked.

“They will but I’m going to tell Herbert confidentially that you are going out on a medical if they try to pull that.”

“He won’t buy it,” I said, my voice a resigned whisper.

“He will after you go to the airport and shoot one of Allen Weh’s airplanes full of bullet holes.”

I was shocked at the thought, but slightly entertained by it as well, thinking about the size of the bill Weh would land on my desk after such an outrageous act.

“Follow me,” was all she said after that.

“Wait,” I said, getting out of the 240D and closing the bank vault-sounding door.

I walked back into the Spearmint gas station office where Ben Kingsley still stood, his elbows leaning down upon the linoleum counter surface.

“Do you have your visa?” I asked, “and a copier?”

Kingsley stood up straight a look of surprise on his face.

“I need a copy of your visa if you want the problem fixed since you’re probably on an educational or tourist visa that’s already expired.”

“In the back,” he whispered, his voice registering a tone of resignation as he’d finally been caught.

“Your wife’s too, and the kids if you have any. I’m not who you think, and you’ve helped me so I’ll help you back.”

I went back out to the Mercedes to wait. The window came down again.

I told Mary what I was planning.

“You can’t save the world,” she said, but her facial features softened, and I knew she was with me.

Ben came running out of the station with a handful of paper.

“I have two children, but they are born here,” he said shoving the sheaf of documents at me.

“I’ll be back in a few days. Your children are automatically American citizens, and they need nothing. You will likely become an asset of the United States and there may be things that you are required to do to be issued Green Cards.”

I had to fend Kingsley off as he worked at hugging me. “I’ll do anything,” he said. “I cannot thank you enough,” Tears were coming down both his cheeks.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” I replied, now knowing that I would have to put some things on the line for the favor but going back to Vietnam wasn’t one of them.

“What do you know about Puerto Rico?” I asked over my shoulder, all kinds of thoughts racing through my mind.

“Get in the Rover,” my wife yelled at me.

“Puerto Rico?” Ben kept repeating as I got into the Rover and drove out behind the Mercedes.

The trip back to the house was rapid, although following the diesel up Montgomery all the way up to Magnolia high on the slope of the mountains took some patience as Mary didn’t properly gear down to remain in second for the whole trip. Back and forth in third and fourth gears, the diesel could only do about twenty miles per hour on the steep grade. High RPM in second it could do forty all the way but there was no convincing Mary of that.
We got home and I felt much better. I called the office and let them know I would be there in the morning and that one of the new agents should go over to Anderson Valley Vineyards and get the applications filled out for Kris and his family. I’d split the commission fifty fifty and the two new ‘agents’ could take in the vineyards and also learn a bit more about Kris and what he might be or might have been put up to in coming to the office and taking me ballooning without any questions or other information.

Once home I went straight to the phone and reached out to Herbert. I gave him the data about Puerto Rico and told him I’d do the training but not lead the team back to Vietnam. It was up to him to arrange with Puerto Rico to allow a place in the jungle there to do such training which had to be in near total seclusion.

“Is this a mission Tony, or more testing or OJT stuff?” I asked.

“What is it you’re after?” he asked back, his voice sounding tired and old.

“If it’s a mission then I have two expired visas that need to be replaced by green cards for the mission, no questions asked. I was told that if it was mission-related such a request would not likely be denied.”

“You know how hard it is to work with immigration?” Tony asked, his voice rising in volume as I once again pushed the very edges of the envelope as I discovered it to be.

“What do you want them for?” he asked.

“Tony, it’s mission-related, and even as my control officer, I don’t think you have a need to know, at least not yet. I’ll fax the visa data in the morning. I need a couple of days’ turnaround.”

“Is there some legal college degree they give for becoming a CIA lawyer?” Tony asked in exasperation, but he didn’t say no to the visa conversions, even though the couple was in blatant violation and should be deported immediately.

That was what I was truly afraid of. In doing Ben such a favor it could all have been turned around. Had I the right to take that risk, which I knew in the back of my mind I was taking? I wasn’t sure but then my wife was probably correct in saying I wasn’t quite right in the head at that moment. The attack had taken me completely by surprise and once again I’d gone into a panic thinking that the effects might be permanent. I had no therapist like Paul to go to in New Mexico and the VA was out, as was visiting any traditional doctor. Any report of any kind dealing with a mental breakdown, I knew, would get me cashiered in no time from just about everything I was involved with and then there would I and my family be?

I threw myself into overdue yard work, washing both cars and then taking a long run up along Tramway Boulevard. The night came on me slowly, the New Mexico sun slowly disappearing on the western horizon. There was peace in darkness, at least on the outside of our home. On the inside of the house, my wife kept coming out every hour to see if I was alright and I knew that I was once again being a burden just by the oddity of my sitting up alone in the dark, staring into a night in which there was no one coming, but unable to drop security long enough to go to sleep. Finally, I went to bed and lay there staring up at a ceiling I could not see, imagining a life that might be better lived. My wife was able to sleep. She’d come for me during the day before when I was unknowingly in need so her sleep in peace was the only thing I could return.

Dawn came creeping in the bedroom window. I waited long enough for its growing presence might be considered an allowable time to rise. Coffee, the television on with no sound, and the wind quietly blowing through the rafters outside made me feel almost human again.

Mary remained quiet as I prepared and then went to the office. She had no questions about my discussion with Herbert regarding the brilliant plan she’d put together. Whether it would work once Tony went through whatever channels he had to go through was a matter for the future. My intent, established to conclusion during the drive down to the Rio Grande, was to get with Kris Anderson to get back into the air where nothing reached me but the clouds, wind, and God.

Once at the office, I checked the lot for any strange vehicles but there were none. Weh and his Charter Services outfit kept banker’s hours so they wouldn’t be in until later in the morning.

My two murderous knuckle-dragger agents, who resembled nothing more or less than the post-teenager kids from anybody’s next door, were waiting to question me about going out and getting the Anderson applications filled out.

I looked up at them and explained how easy their mission was, as they looked back and forth at each other like I was crazy. I sighed deeply, hoping that Kris and his wife were naïve and innocent enough not to realize that he might have some stone-cold killer ‘aliens’ visiting while making believe they were regular humans.

“Don’t hurt anyone,” I said to both of them, my voice low, hard and direct.

They both laughed lightly but quickly exited my office I called Pat in and had her fax the visa papers to Herbert so he could begin his work on clearing my two new assistants for duty. I had to give them something to do so they would not feel that they owed me much of anything while at the same time supporting an after-action report that would pass muster in explaining why it had been worth the agency’s time and expense to authoritatively deal with immigration.

Pat appeared at my open door, my two newest agents having failed to close it on their way out.

“He’s on the line for you,” she said, before ducking away.

The staff was not a grouping of idiots I realized. In no time they were figuring out that the Bankers Life of Iowa sign out in front of the place was exactly that, a front. I stared at the blinking light on the phone. It had to be Herbert and it had to be about Mary’s plan.

“What’s your decision?” I said directly into the receiver as I picked it up.

“I know who came up with this plan of yours to avoid going back to that place.”

I said nothing since there was no question to answer and I wasn’t much interested in who came up with the plan.

“She should be the agent and you cooking, doing the dishes, and caring for the children,” Herbert said, his tone one of frustrated disgust.

“She’s just waiting for a ‘no’ answer so she can implement stage two of her plan, isn’t she?”

I didn’t answer. He and the agency had absorbed my whole family in whatever it was I was doing for a career, but for some reason, the fact that Mary might take an active role in my ‘secret’ life was bothering Tony and probably those in positions above him.

“They approved it but with one condition,” Herbert said, the tone of his voice telling me he wasn’t in complete agreement with his superior’s decision.
I waited.

“Marchinko’s going to lead the mission himself but you’re to be his control officer and you can do that from CONUS.”

I wanted to laugh but my feeling of relief was too great.

“Control officer? Like you?” I asked, in shock. “Is that possible, as I’ve had no formal training, never been on a real mission, and still don’t know whether I passed the first test to be an agent of any kind?”

“You’ll be the management training command officer, not his control,” Herbert replied. “That was my mistake.”

CONUS being the continental United States I am presuming,” I said, just to confirm that I would not have to enter Vietnam again.

There was a sight pause as Herbert considered.

“You know that missions go in the strangest of directions so I can’t promise you anything at this point. The mission hasn’t begun.”

“Why don’t you call Mary,” I replied and then waited as I knew there would be a pregnant pause and there was.

“Assure her, damn it?” Herbert replied real anger in his tone.

I smiled and hung up the phone without saying goodbye or ending the call.